Four Down, One to Go - Law's Collections 1
by Harmonica Smile
Summary: What do Benn and Law do in their down time while sailing on the Red Force through calm waters and periods of quiet? Diabolical pirate pursuits, of course. Two of the smartest men of the One Piece World kick back. Supplementary to Repossession. Mentions of Luffy, Shanks, Doflamingo, Vergo and Marco. Slight Angst. Law-centric.


**Four Down, One to Go**

* * *

"Mess."

Benn didn't look up from his newspaper. He scratched at the puzzle with his pencil. He did glance at the birds though. The seagulls perched on the railing of the ship were larger this side of the Grand Line. He was used to them being - in comparison to these giants that is - kind of petit but annoying creatures. These guys had yellow legs too. What was up with that?

Where he hailed from their legs and beaks were as red as tomatoes, and the birds _weren't_ the size of dinosaurs. Okay, maybe that was an X-Drake size exaggeration. Chickens. They weren't the size of chickens.

He slipped his pencil behind his ear, lifted two fingers, aimed and fired towards the railing a few times, blowing across the tips to disperse smoke that didn't exist; shuffling his feet to kick shell casings - that couldn't be seen - under the seat.

If Kizaru could see him now. Probably still shit his pants. Kizaru was _not_ a worthy opponent in the truest sense of worthy, but he was not one to underestimate. One of the birds squawked, kickstarting a chorus of petulant, entitled avian complaints.

"Louder than Shanks on a bender," Law murmured, not looking up from his own book.

Benn smiled. Or Luffy trailing after Law across the deck of the Red Force when they'd been together, and he'd paid a visit. The screeching of gulls more bearable than his constant lamentation for meat or Law's attention.

The birds, eyeing him and Law as they sat on the deck, passing the time with diabolical pirate amusements, were whopping, clumsy things. Nix chickens. More like albatrosses, and he didn't want to begin to think about the bad luck they could bring. But only if you killed them. Their crews came in all shapes and sizes. It was worth remembering that birds were the same.

And boy was he glad he'd only used his fingers to bring them down. He'd hate to rouse the ire of any sea spirits by actually bumping off any of their precious familiars. Even if they were seagulls, and _not_ albatrosses. He'd lived in the New World for some time now, but his knowledge of what lay beneath the ocean was still limited. Better to be safe. Sea kings were bad enough without bringing the supernatural into it.

"You're not having my heart, Law."

He looked across at the doctor for a second, before reaching behind himself and pulling his hair tight in its tie.

"It belongs to that red-haired bastard, apparently." Why hadn't Shanks got any grey yet? Even Law sported a few. And there he was - fully old man dignified. The eternal dilemma for the dark-haired the world over.

He removed the pencil from the ridge of his ear and returned to the paper.

"Anyway, aren't you taken? Where's the pineapple?"

Law cast an eye up the crow's nest. Seagulls circling that too, and the Phoenix ensconced within. Two scavengers and a legend. What was the difference between a myth and a legend? he mused. Well, Rayleigh was a legend. What did that make Marco?

He returned his gaze to Shanks' first mate. "I don't extract hearts for pleasure, Benn."

Law's voice was the usual blend of four o'clock shadow and ground pebbles – a spice clove thrown in. Lovely to smell, as flavoursome as fuck, bitter and abrasive to the tongue. An acquired taste.

"You're safe."

And Benn wasn't sure if he was safe from pleasure or pain or both. He ashed his cig, eyes shooting Law's way before returning to the paper. Couldn't Law make eye contact less of a death threat every now and then?

But, threatening stares aside, he had a lovely neck. Shanks had pointed it out. Though most of it was buried in his sweater and coat at the moment. It was an understatement to say that Shanks had an adventurous streak, but Law had come to them in need of a safe place, and that's what they provided. No harm in looking though.

Sure, if the surgeon himself maybe suggested it, maybe they'd contemplate hooking up, but it didn't seem to be his bag. He was very much with Luffy when he'd been with Luffy, and though Marco and he gave each other plenty of space, they kept an eye out for one another. Law's number one requirement in a friendship, in any meaningful relationship, was to be recognised as a person.

Benn winced at the memory of Doflamingo and Vergo gate crashing the Red Force in their quest to take Law back, shortly after the World Government commutated their sentences. Arrogant pricks. Law and the Hearts had been with them just over two years at the time. The visit not that long ago. That freak was still flapping about somewhere.

His pencil broke the surface of the paper remembering Doflamingo's truly disturbing words about how they'd so casually used and abused their subordinate, their possession. He kept his face calm though, as he eased up the pressure and tried to smooth the tear into a whole. Naturally enough, Law didn't like to be reminded, treated differently.

The Heart captain was still very wanted, then and now, having escaped the marines before they could harm him further or hang him.

Benn knew despite the alleyways his or Shanks' minds might nip into, they'd do nothing to disrupt the pockets of peace Law had found with them. Protection was initially extended as a favour to Luffy and in thanks for Law's skill as a doctor after Marineford, but then he definitely grew on them. He'd been so damaged when the Thousand Sunny had moored alongside them, but it took some time to realise. He'd always owned it, though. Had never pretended he wasn't in great need of a place where he could regroup, reorganise and perhaps even regenerate. He'd always be indebted to the three crews, and his own, for providing that space.

The surgeon was reading on how best to treat varicose veins, his finger holding his place. All that keeping watch, shimmying up masts played havoc with the circulation of some of Shanks' crew, and with what was left of Whitebeard's. Not to mention Jean Bart's massive height to weight ratio - pure muscle – but even so, it must put a strain on his calves and those mighty thighs, and he wasn't sure how it worked for bipedal bears. Minks. Bepo.

The last paragraph he'd read hadn't made much sense, so he leant Benn's way instead, giving himself a break, casting shadow over the rifle hooked into the great man's sash. Was it comfortable to sit like that? They all learned to accommodate their weapons to ensure they were always near. Kikoku rested against the bench to his right.

Benn was good-looking in a Smoker kind of a way. Similar to the marine, to Cora, he was puffing away like a chimney. A reassuring familiarity came with the smell that made Law both wrinkle his nose with a health practitioner's disdain, and want to bury his face into the material of his cape.

Cora's feathers, soft against Law's cheek as he'd carried him on his back up the mountain through that goddamn snow, were not only damp, but reeked of tobacco. They probably hadn't made the cough that wracked his body at the time any better, and the coat probably hadn't been washed since the feathers that went into its creation had been plucked from some hapless bird. But all he could really recall was the soggy down and the smell of Cora. The pain of the amber lead was so extreme that he'd held onto anything offering even a hint of comfort.

Luckily the steady sea breeze blew the majority of smoke away from him and Law refrained from puckering the purple patterns and cloth of Benn's cloak between his fingers. The firstmate would get entirely the wrong idea.

Benn's button earrings rounded the tips of his lobes, like those worn by a respectable secretary. His mother might have had something similar grace her ears once. His grandmother. Benn was the responsible one of his partnership with Shanks after all. Law grinned slightly. He'd have to tell red-hair at some stage.

"Four down," Law murmured, stretching his arms out in front of him, making a convex cradle of his fingers, and returning to his book. "An untidy area, four letters, mess. M-E-S-S."

Benn looked across at Law again, his coat tight about him, his cap down, his slender, tattooed hands picking up his own pencil to annotate his reading, the feathers of his sweater neck lifting in the air around him, a lot cleaner than those in his past. The muscles of his actual neck, those that could be seen, enhanced and defined the sturdy tangibility of it. The actuality of it. So easily rendered slack and useless in the curl of a noose.

"Damn, you." Benn scribbled in the answer. "Why do you speak so many languages?"

Law looked over at the puzzle. He'd already figured out about ten answers from the clues. That didn't mean that Benn hadn't mentally answered fifteen. This one was easy for them both, but they'd already completed the _News Coo Cryptic_ within the first fifteen minutes of receipt this morning. This, the _News Coo Daily Clue,_ they did when they scraped the bottom of the intellectual barrel. Jesus, Jesus Burgess could probably even do this one. Trebol.

"Don't blame me, blame the creator." He looked out at the sea, the white crested tufts of water lifting and lowering the ship on its journey.

"I believe in calling a _Pica a Pica_ ," and he blanched at the thought of that monster, though he had to agree, his voice was amusing, but he'd learnt long ago not to laugh at it. They were all free again too. The executives.

He closed his book and put it to the side for a second. He stretched out his arms and legs again. All gangly pauses. He was aching for land, to feel the earth under his feet. So often there was a huge marine presence wherever they landed for whatever reason - probably because pirate emperors weren't the most covert operators, though Shanks surprisingly was more subtle than his cohorts, but it didn't take much. Law had no wish to encounter them, so he'd been ship-bound for some time. Damn wanted poster. Damn bounty.

"Some of us have a natural aptitude for languages. Some people view it as an asset. I tried standard with my fruit, just wouldn't work. And _mes_ is standard in North Blue."

"Your language is a mess."

"M-e-s-s?"

"Yeah, any bastardisation on the theme."

"That doesn't quite work, because one means . . ."

"Yeah, I know, I know." Ben chomped on his cigarillo and waved away Law's impudence.

One was a knife and one was an untidy area, or a dining area on a ship for the crew. He got it, but just because the old language of medicine was Dutch and German didn't mean that Law had to abide by it. Probably some deep-rooted clinging kind of thing to his parents. He didn't blame him, those Dutch traders and doctors of old were outcasts too, their existence tolerated only due to their skills, but if the younger captain could call a spade a spade, why couldn't he call a scalpel a scalpel? Never mind that he hadn't actually called a spade a spade.

"Épée," Law crossed his legs, kicked back under the sun, tipping his hat forward, and folding his arms. No angle of his neck could truly be seen, but Benn knew lean and primed muscle contoured all planes.

"What?"

"If you don't know, and the question is related to swords, the answer's always épée."

Ben scoped the puzzle.

"Why do they accept French, but not Dutch?"

"Mes would have been too short, anyway."

"Mes or Mess?"

"Mes," Law held up three fingers without opening his eyes.

"Doesn't answer my question."

Law shrugged. "You're the genius."

"Only in East Blue." According to the creator.

"You've been doing crosswords for years. You must know of the épée edict."

Law wouldn't deny his intelligence, but conceit was for fools. Benn had never declared himself a genius, for the record, but he was glad that Benn was on record as being the most intelligent man in the pirate world. It decreased the number of potential weapons at his own enemies' disposal.

Zoro wandered over, tankard in hand. Benn thought it would soon be put to the test whether the seagulls or Luffy were louder. Shanks must be entertaining him, the Strawhats having dropped in on their way from A to B to Z somewhere. As was their meandering wont.

"Swords."

He sat next to Law, careful of Kikoku. Law drew her near without opening his eyes. The lack of greeting was of no concern to any of them. Depending on which wind they were chasing, the four crews often intermingled. Luffy had certainly shown his strength to Shanks by now.

"I heard you mention them."

Zoro's conversation was above a grunt. Law cracked an eye open, his hat shading his face. He addressed Benn, but looked at the swordsman,

"Shanks might know. That sabre's closer to a fencing sword than anything either of you swing about. That's French too. And they accept that - either spelling, depending on the interconnected words."

Zoro eyed Law's nodachi. He often did. "Pot. Kettle. Black," he said. That thing crackled with black energy, still hadn't forgiven him for how he'd treated Law soon after his rescue, never mind that he'd taken care of her for two years before that. Good care. It was telling that he was still alive, though. The doctor still acted like a cornered cat around him sometimes.

"It's a rifle, Law. It's got nothing to do with those pointy blades you two carry."

"Could always attach a bayonet to it."

Benn shrugged and nodded his head in agreement. It was true, but it wouldn't be comfortable tucked into his sash.

"Why're we talking swords?" Zoro asked from his corner.

As if Zoro needed an excuse, Law thought. Benn lifted the paper, his pencil ready.

"Six down a sword used for . . ."

"Katana, nodachi, naginata."

"That's not a sword," Law threw out against Zoro's rapid fire, eyes shut again.

"It's a matter of perspective."

"Four letters." Benn scratched his temple.

"Dagger, khanjar."

"Four letters, Zoro."

Did Law always have to sound so fucking vexed?

"Blade, spear, cutter."

D-E-A-T-H danced across Law's thigh as if practicing scales.

"Stanley Trimmer," Law muttered.

Benn smiled and folded his paper.

"Épée?"

"Épée," Law agreed. That was the thrust of it anyway.

"Épée?" Zoro tipped the tankard to drain the last of it.

"Law says there's an épée edict, Zoro. It's where the answer to any sword-related question in a crossword is épée."

"Épée Edith, I'd like to meet her," Zoro laughed into his beer. He got a smile from the surgeon too. Thing was, no-one really knew if he was being serious or not, but he _wasn't_ Luffy. There could be Kuina Katana, and Nox Nodachi. Sakura Sabre.

"But it's all whether you believe this _mess_ of a man or not." Benn waved a hand in Law's direction.

Law lazily scratched at his goatee, he could be asleep, except for the movement. It was true, one led to incision and excision, and the other to shambling chaos, and it seemed he was adept at either. But if in doubt, four letters, sword related, épée was always the answer. He'd bet Smoker's heart on it.

* * *

This is also a _Repossession_ related one shot (can be found on my profile). It's placed after chapters 16 & 17, before 18. In that AU, Law didn't escape from Dressrosa with the Strawhats, and Doflamingo was not taken to Impel Down. Rather, he and Vergo both survived their battles, caught Law, and imprisoned him for two years. _Repossession_ tells the story of the what happens after those two years. The start of the long fic has all Don Quixote pirates arrested by the marines, including Law. It is not a T rating, so please make sure you read the author's notes and warnings if you choose to read it.


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